The Lost Journals of Kavalyn Mascella
by Wombatix
Summary: The bumbling story of a failed young Jedi named Kavalyn Mascella, as told through his journals, as he escapes the Academy on Coruscant and attempts to make his way in the galaxy on his own.
1. Introduction

What you're about to read is a first-hand account of my adventures, as told through the journals I kept since I was nineteen; how my life spiraled down the gutter, and how it eventually managed to get spit back up… even if it was still somewhat coated in bantha shit. The only reason I'm putting all this together and releasing it is because Verner said I should, and hey, I've got nothing better to do. Spoiler warning: I live through it all. Although, in retrospect, I'm still not entirely sure HOW I lived. I guess you can try to figure it out, because I sure as hell can't. Anyways, without any further ado, here is the fascinating tale of my sucky life.


	2. Entry-001

ENTRY-001

ZHELLDAY, 7TH CYCLE, 10 ATC

My name is Kavalyn Mascella. A bit of a mouthful, I know, but hey. The name "Mascella" is big points around here. Why? Because it's my sister's, too. And everything involving my sister in the slightest is big points around here.

I'm a Jedi-in-training at the Courscanti Academy. Or, well, a Jedi-janitor-in-training. Because frankly, that's all I'm ever gonna be. You see, it all started- as in, my life- on the small colony of Haliper-7. Haliper-7, known to some as the "Dantooine of the mid rim," wasn't really a planet where a whole lot happened. Like, ever. At all. Only a minor trade port kept the colony from just disappearing off the galactic map as a whole. Equally as boring were the lives of two merchants who lived on that colony- Caso and Somana Mascella. But on that colony, one fateful day twenty-three years ago, those two boring merchants had a child. And who was that amazing, oh-so-wonderful child, I hear you ask? My sister, Jayva.

You see, Jayva was a prodigy from the moment she left the womb. She seemed to embody the very Force itself, her sensitivity to it was so vast. Before she was two months old, things were flying around at her whim. Her presence in the Force was so strong, in fact, that three Jedi masters arrived on the planet just months after her birth to take the girl into training. My parents, of course, accepted this without question; having a child inducted into the Order, especially one so gifted, was a tremendous honor. Jayva would quickly go on to outshine her peers at the Jedi academy on Coruscant; by the time she was four years old, she was more proficient in the Force than even some of the masters. She was immensely skilled in every aspect of her training, and some already spoke of her earning a seat on the Council before she was thirty.

And then I came along. And… well, nothing really happened. At all. My parents were quick to see that I possessed nowhere near the altitude of Force-power that my sister had. In fact, I hardly seemed to be Force-sensitive at all. Apparently I knocked a spoon off the counter-top one time, but that was it. However, I guess the Jedi decided that I was still a worthy investment anyway, after my sister's oh-so profound success. They took me in when I was six months old, hoping that maybe one day I would unlock the potential to become as great as their precious Jayva.

I did not. Years passed, and my training was… embarrassing. I was bottom of the class in almost every regard. I couldn't control the Force past making someone's hair ripple. I had a new set of bruises every day from where the training probe had shot me after failing to block the blasts with my lightsaber. I was largely un-athletic (At least, by Jedi standards), and finished last in all but one obstacle course, in which I instead finished second-to-last because little Tago C'isten had fainted just before the finish line. And in meditation sessions, I often toppled over and fell asleep within five minutes.

The only aspect in which I wasn't a complete and utter failure was education. I was smart- the masters gave me that one. Not as smart as my sister, but only just lesser. I was quick to memorize the galaxy, and was fluent in the majority of common alien languages. However, much of the history of the Jedi Order- and the Sith- bored me half to death, frankly. This seemed to piss Gavvie off quite a bit, as he was positively captivated by the stuff.

Gavvie (Okay, so his real name was Gavkos) was the master in charge of overseeing the… well, mess that was my training. An old Mirialan Jedi, Gavkos was stern and quiet, and appeared to be quite apprehensive about the whole training-me thing. I think he thought I was a lost cause, and a bit of a waste of academy resources. I secretly agreed with him.

Through all of this, I was always, always, _always _under the patronizing light that was my sister's talent. I was cut slack all the time, pushed and pushed by the masters, all because of Jayva's success, and the ongoing hope against hope that I would one day reach that same level of greatness. I thought I was doing a pretty solid job in illustrating that those expectations were just a _tad_ bit unrealistic, but they kept pushing.

The only times throughout my training I actually ran into my sister were during mass ceremonies and other events, during which I always had a great view of her being flocked by friends and admirers, while I usually stood alone, waiting to get back to my bunk and sleep. Kind of sad, really, but that's just the way it was. That's the way it's always been.

Which is why I'm leaving.

Yep, I've gotten fed up with the whole Jedi thing by this point. I'm not staying at the academy for the rest of my life, maybe one day finally graduating with enough praise to become the great hall floor-sweeper. Just recently, Jayva was promoted to the rank of full Jedi Knight and sent out into the galaxy on her very own missions- and she's only twenty-three. I'm not living in that shadow forever. I've got to get out. And so I've decided to. Tonight, I'm sneaking out, and I'm leaving this place for good. It's the whole reason I even started this journal- Gavkos was always telling me it'd be good to start keeping one, so now I am. Maybe one day I'll look back and sell it as the _Story of Kavalyn Mascella: Jedi Failure _for all those looking for a good laugh_._ I don't know. But in all seriousness, I figured it'd be good to start one. I have no idea what's in store for me out there. But it's gotta be better than this.

Tonight, at midnight, I'm leaving. It won't be hard- I've snuck out before, wandered out into the Coruscanti nightlife, even stopped at a bar a few times a couple years back and tried some Corellian ale from the old bartender (It sucked). So I'm not that worried, but still- the Jedi aren't idiots. I've gotta be more careful now than ever.

So here's hoping.


	3. Entry-002

ENTRY-002

BENDUDAY, 7TH CYCLE, 10 ATC

I'm pleased to report, as I sit here in the dark with my back against the rumbling hull of a G-X1 Firehauler, that my escape went quite well. Okay, _kind _of well. Left me stuck on a shady cargo ship with no known destination, but other than that, yeah, I guess it went okay. I wasn't caught, at least.

Sneaking out of my bunk was just as easy as I had predicted. The Jedi are stuck-up enough to assume none of their pupils would have any reason to leave their wonderful little facility, so sneaking down the empty corridor and climbing through the open window was no hard task. Of course, it was a lot of dropping, jumping, running, sneaking and stumbling to get off the giant premises, but I had time.

I took with me all of my money (51 credits), an amber scarf from my mother, and this journal. But, upon realizing I might need some protection out in the real world- and didn't have enough to afford a good blaster- I made a rash decision. Master Gavkos had given the code to his personal quarters to all of his apprentices, including me, in case of emergency. Well, I figured this was kind-of sort-of an emergency, so I crept over to his room and punched it in. The door slid open, and I tip-toed inside until I found what I was looking for. Laying in an open case on his bedside table was his lightsaber. Now, I knew it was probably a pretty heinous crime to swipe a Jedi master's lightsaber from him while he slept, but I was on my way out for good anyway, so I figured I might as well. Besides, the old geezer never even used the thing. I clipped the saber onto my belt and backtracked silently out of the room, the door sliding shut behind me.

Then more running and running, and eventually, I made it to the small bar I had visited a few years back, and queued for a taxi at the terminal with the credits I had. It showed up within five minutes, a blaring yellow speeder, and I set a course for the spaceport. It was packed- but when wasn't this place packed. I hopped out of the taxi and maneuvered subtly through the crowds, trying not to draw attention to myself. Stepping up to the incoming/outgoing monitor, I scanned the list for something I could hitch a ride on. A large G-X1 Firehauler, the _Strife_, was due to check out of bay 17-A in fifteen minutes. That would do. I began to scoot through the swelling masses again when I heard a voice call out.

"MASCELLA?" It cried. "MASCEEEELL-AAAAAAA?"

Kriffing kath hounds, it was Gavkos. I guess someone had noticed I was missing faster than I'd anticipated. But how had he tracked me here? Did he follow me? Did someone at the diner rat me out?

It could've been that he sensed my presence through the Force, but that was unlikely. My whole childhood, I had heard the masters talk about my profound weakness in the Force- they said my connection to it was so marginal, they could hardly feel my presence in it at all. So to sniff me down all the way to the spaceport would've been a challenging task.

Really, it didn't matter. All I knew was that I couldn't be stopped now- not after I'd gotten so far (And, you know, that whole lightsaber-stealing thing). I walked briskly towards the hangar elevators, my heart pounding now, looking for 17-A. I found it pretty quickly, and I ducked inside, jamming my finger on the button. The doors closed, and the car rumbled down the shaft. I fell back against the wall, sighing in relief.

The rumbling stopped, and the doors slid open. I crept out of the elevator and hurriedly ducked down behind a stack of crates. In front of me, the Firehauler stood proudly, a red stripe running along its dull gray exterior. Its engines were already starting up, and no one was in sight. Quickly, I scampered to the back of the ship and was relieved to find the ramp was still down, and the door unlocked. I clenched my teeth and opened it, bracing for the worst; but luckily, no one came from the cockpit to check. I guess the revving engines had covered up the noise. I clambered inside, and the door hissed shut.

I didn't know the layout of a G-X1; however, I assumed the main path ahead of me most likely led to the cockpit, which was situated in the center front prow of the ship. There were four other small corridors, two on each side; glancing into the right one nearest the back, I saw it was filled with numerous crates and barrels. I crept in there and began looking for a good place to crash when a peculiar scent reached my nose. It was spice.

The Jedi had made us learn about spice in our studies, since it was a common problem here on Coruscant. That included being able to recognize its odor, which I guess proved useful, because it now informed me that I was, in fact, stowing away on a _spice_ freighter. An _illegal_ spice freighter. Great.

But it was too late to back out now. The engines roared, and the ship rose off the hangar floor. I was thrown into the wall, unready for the sudden liftoff. I glanced out a window and saw the hangar turning slowly around me. We were leaving. Within seconds, the gray walls of the spaceport had turned into the indigo night sky of Coruscant; a minute more, and the blackness of… space.

I had done it. I was free. The academy, Coruscant, Gavkos; they were all behind me now.

And so I settled into the corner of the cargo room, behind a particularly large crate that would block me from the view of anyone who came down the hallway. I had gone from Jedi to thieving-stowaway-vagabond in one night. And for some reason, I felt good.

And so that concludes the fascinating tale of my grand escape from the Jedi academy. Now I wait, and I'm actually quite happy I brought this journal; it gives me something to pass the time. Or perhaps I'll just gaze out the window; after all, I haven't seen real space since they took me from Haliper-7, on that fateful day nineteen years ago.


	4. Entry-003

ENTRY-003

PRIMEDAY, 7TH CYCLE, 10 ATC

So far, so good. My cozy little corner in the back of the _Strife_ has proven a pretty decent hiding spot.

I caught my first glimpse of the ship's captain earlier. At least, I assumed he was the captain, because as far as I know, he's also the only other person on this bucket. He's a great big weequay with a great big gun- which didn't do much to help my nerves. He passed by the cargo bay earlier this morning, heading into the corridor across the hall. I couldn't see what was inside that room, as the door to it only opened briefly as he entered; however, as the pleasant sounds coming from it for the next few minutes were happy to tell me, I learned it was in fact a bathroom. He was in there for a good long time, a little too long; maybe that's why he named his ship the _Strife_. A half hour later, when he was finally done, he ejected the matter into space and walked back to the cockpit, whistling merrily, while I sat and watched the new little space travelers tumble through the black abyss from my window.

I'm starving. Soon enough, my stomach is going to be what gives me away. I didn't plan for this- the thought of nourishment had never really crossed my mind while I was concocting this brilliant escape. Sooner or later, I know I'm gonna have to get up and look for something to eat. And that's a terrific thing to look forward to, what with Captain Space-poo the giant weequay roaming around.

So, while I'm waiting, I figure I might as well write down some more stuff about me; A., Because I'm bored, and B., Because if you've read this far in by now, you must be somewhat interested in my life. Born on Haliper-7, but you already know that. Brown hair, brown eyes (Very interesting, I know). Pretty skinny. 5'8, 5'9. Charismatic, charming, all-around swell guy. Except for the whole I-suck-at-being-a-Jedi part. I don't know much about my parents; I had only ever known them when I was a baby, and the only keepsake I had of them was the amber scarf wrapped around my neck, from my mother. I never had a lot of friends at the academy; I had one for a while, a korun named Rigo. Rigo claimed his parents had been powerful Mandalorian clansmen, and that he would one day join the clan himself as a Jedi warrior. I told him the Mandos probably wouldn't be too happy about that, but he seemed determined. So hey, good to have goals, I figured.

Rigo and I were actually pretty good friends during most of my childhood. We had a lot in common, and were both troublemakers. More than once, Rigo tagged along with me whenever I left the academy in the night, desperate for adventure. Which is where we differed a bit; I snuck out to see the world and to escape mine, while he snuck out in hopes of finding some action. He craved it, in fact; said it was his "Mandalorian blood." He'd try to draw attention to himself, attempting to coerce the large men drinking at the bar into a fistfight. Luckily, they usually refused; fighting a 15-year-old kid wouldn't end well for either party. But I'll never forget the time a particularly pissed-off rodian had accepted the brawl without hesitation, and led to me and Rigo being thrown out of the bar by our robes, Rigo still yelling insults from his blue-and-black face.

Well, our friendship didn't last forever. Rigo began to isolate himself from me after I refused to sneak out anymore, no longer in the mood to listen to him pipe on all night about his plans to overthrow Mandalore in one-on-one combat. Eventually, we stopped talking to each other at all, and I only ever saw him after that during meditation class.

Another friend I had was Valine, a nautolan girl two years younger than I was. I met Val one day out in the courtyard, where she was frantically looking for her lost training saber. I helped her find it (She'd left it in her room), and we became pretty close friends after that. It even grew into a bit of a relationship. Val, a devout follower of the Jedi way, had been sternly against the idea, but finally gave in one day after my constant pressing and pressing. I was all for it from the start. Val was… well, pretty hot, especially for a nautolan, and Jedi discipline could go dive head first off a skyscraper for all I cared. And so our secret little love affair began, and lasted a good few months. It wasn't until she came running up to me in tears one day, wailing about how she couldn't handle the deception and had told her master all about it, that I decided it was probably best to just back out. So, like Rigo, Val and I avoided each other from then on, too shy to even glance at one another.

Other than that, my childhood was a pretty lonely one. I guess that's why leaving the academy was so easy for me- there weren't a whole lot of bonds to break. This little flashback session did give me something new to think about, though. _Would_ I ever return to the Jedi again? Would I ever run into the people and the life I left behind?

I sure hope not.


	5. Entry-004

ENTRY-004

PRIMEDAY, 7TH CYCLE, 10 ATC

So, remember that whole "I'm currently sitting against the hull of a G-X1 Firefauler" opening two entries ago? Well, brace yourself; this opening may be even stranger.

I'm now sitting with my back to one of the many interior walls of an Imperial cruiser. One of the walls surrounding the detention cell, in fact. Because I am currently _in_ detention. And yeah, it's a long story.

Not long after shutting down my journal following the completion of my last entry, the _Strife_ had made a sudden lurch to the side, as if struck by something large. I actually thought we had hit a small asteroid or other piece of space junk, when suddenly, the ship lurched violently to the side again. Getting up and hurrying over to the window, I stared through it… and felt my stomach drop.

A gargantuan, gray cruiser- evidently Imperial by design- was just a few kilometers behind us, bursts of bright green flashing along its hull as it fired at us. Another shot connected, and I flew backwards this time as the _Strife_ jolted forward. This was bad. This was very, very bad. Why was such a large warship firing on such a small cargo freighter?

But my answer was soon made clear. Hearing heavy footsteps come pounding down the hallway, I dove back into the corner of the cargo bay. The weequay emerged, and he too bolted into the bay, hurriedly grabbing the nearest crate and dragging it towards the airlock. He snatched a helmet off a hook hanging near the door and slid it on. Realizing I was about to run out of oxygen real fast, I braced myself for the worst; but after he opened the hatch, to my great relief, a shimmering blue forcefield materialized instantly in the doorway to the cargo bay. The weequay then grabbed on to the airlock hatch as the vacuum of space attempted to pull him out. The crate, lacking limbs and therefore unable to grab hold of anything, slid quickly down the ramp and tumbled into the blackness.

So the Imperial cruiser must've known this was a shady freighter, if the weequay was so urgent to start dumping all the spice. I wondered if the guy had any renown in the criminal underworld, for him to be fired upon so quickly; but there was certainly no time to find out. What I did know was that the _Strife_ wasn't going to take a lot more hits; I had to get out. And I only saw one immediate ticket to doing so.

I waited for the weequay to drag the next crate over and turn his back on me before dashing over to a barrel that had toppled over during the first blasts on the ship. Spice littered the floor around it; the lid was unsealed. I quickly pushed it fully open and scampered inside, legs first. There was enough room for me, but it was a tight fit; that's for damned sure. I reached up and resealed the lid, and everything went black as I was locked inside (I should mention at this point that I had absolutely no plan in mind at the time). Boy, did it reek of spice. And so I waited, bumping my head against the sides of the barrel as the ship took more hits. Finally, the weequay reached my particular mobile hiding spot and began to roll it towards the door. I felt a burst of speed and the yank of the vacuum as the barrel crossed the forcefield, and suddenly I felt myself spinning rapidly in the darkness… And then, a sharp blow to the head, and I was out.

I awakened still inside my little deathtrap, but I was no longer spinning. I could tell the barrel was now sitting properly on a floor. I also heard muffled voices, but it took me a second to make out what they were saying through the metal exterior.

"- troyed completely?"

"Yes, sir. The _Strife_ was vaporized at exactly oh-nine-hundred-hours."

"Good. Escape pods?"

"None detected, sir."

"Excellent, excellent. Lord Nazakin will be quite pleased to hear we finally offed that bastard."

"Indeed, sir."

Well, that was great. So I was inside the cruiser; the stuck-up Imperial accents were impossible to mistake.

"Is this all of the cargo?"

"Most of it, sir. Two crates evaded our tractor beam, but the rest are here."

"I want a full sweep of the contents. Make sure it's just spice this guy had on him."

"On it, sir."

Oh, crap. This was it. This was the end of the line. They were gonna shoot me. They were gonna shoot me and I was gonna die and that was gonna be it.

No, not if I could help it. I'd go out fighting. I felt around my thigh until the cold steel of the lightsaber touched my hand. I grasped it tightly and waited.

I heard the other crates and barrels being opened one by one, slowly getting closer to mine. I was ready. Finally, two pairs of footsteps came up right next to either side of my barrel and paused. The lid hissed as it began to unseal, and light poured into the cramped space…

… I bolted up, calling upon the Force to propel me into the air…

… And I instead toppled to the ground, slamming face-first into the cold floor of the Imperial hangar, the dropped lightsaber rolling slowly away from my palm. Immediately, two sets of hands were thrust on my back, shoving me into the floor.

"Sir! Sir! There's a person in here, sir! A live one!"

I heard the hurried footsteps of the Imperial officer come running over, stopping in front of me.

"Well, well, well… It looks like we found ourselves a stowaway, boys." He paused, and then, "And it looks like it's not just any old stowaway, either." He walked over to the gently rolling lightsaber and picked it up. "It appears we have ourselves a little _Jedi_ vagabond here."

One of the Imperials with his hands pressing on my back snorted. "Some Jedi this one is. Tried to jump right out of the barrel when we opened it, ended up looking like he was having a seizure before falling flat on his face." He snickered some more, the snide bastard.

The officer walked back over to where I lay, crouched, and perked my face up from under my chin with his finger so I could look at him. He seemed to be in his late 30's, his hair already graying. He gazed at me for a bit, his blue eyes carefully inspecting mine, before letting my face drop again and standing back up.

"Take him to the detention level. Lord Nazakin will want to see him."

"Right away, sir," one of the Imperial goons said. Then they lifted me up from under my armpits, and before I could act, the second sharp blow of the day struck me in the back of the head, and everything went black once more.

(To be continued)


End file.
